


Langst Drabbles (Mainly Vent fics)

by Way_too_involved



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Eating Disorders, Gen, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Insecure Lance (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, This is self projecting, vent fics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-04-30 19:29:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14503926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Way_too_involved/pseuds/Way_too_involved
Summary: Read along some small vent fics that i write and post for the world to read if they want to.Each update is probably something i was going through at that time.





	1. #1

It had been happening for a while that he didn’t really notice until it got too much. 

It started small; eating too little at lunch then not eating at all, scratching his arm until he drew blood, pulling all-nighters for no reason but the fact that if he closed his eyes his thoughts would overwhelm him. Until he got here. He looked at the scissors in his hand, opened so that the sharp edge was exposed to his arm, couldn’t really think until he was already done with the first couple lines. He would push deeper, every line trying to elicit the rush he so desperately wants, no needs.

He would go about his day normally after that. He would talk and laugh. If you would look at him you would never ever realize that he was hurt deeply in levels beyond his own understanding. He would laugh and joke and flirt in his same loud ways trying to deflect attention from his scarred arms. Because who would be comfortable with someone asking about them. He wasn’t proud of it, who would be? But it was a way from him to breathe again. To remove the tightness that seemed to take residence over his heart.

What makes it even more confusing is that there was no turning point. There was no big event that drastically changed him. It was a matter of pent up rage and emotion fighting to break free in any way possible. And if it wasn’t towards himself God forbid it goes towards someone else. So he sticks with what he can control. Lance’s mind kept playing the mantra that he could stop at any moment. It was just a phase he needed to get through, and the moment he figured everything out, he would stop. That’s what he kept telling himself. He could stop. It was just a matter of time.

Things never tend to work out if you plan too much, this was the exception. Lance seemed happier that day. Lighter. Like someone lifted the weight of the world from his shoulder. He had a plan. A plan he thought of, through and through. He thought of every possible scenario and today was the day to execute his plan. It was simple but so many things could go wrong and he couldn’t afford it. It was happening now or never. He just had to make sure 1) No one finds out 2) No one walks in on him too early 3) He leaves the room in the right moment so no one follows him.

He sat on his bed, contemplating whether it would be worth it or not. Deep down it was what he wanted but thinking about the reactions it would pull from his friends left a sour taste in his mouth. He knew that in reality, when it comes to choosing between their feelings and his, they would choose their own. It was a lesson he needed to learn to do for himself but it was too late now.

He didn’t want to think about it too much; overthinking got him here in the first place.

He looked down at the bottle, painkillers, and unscrewed the cap. He stared at his mirror taking in his bruising eye bags and his sunken cheeks one last time. He wondered how no one really noticed. No one. Not his parents. Not his teammates. Not his best friend.

He thought about how friendship is subjective. You could think you are close friends with someone but they would only consider you as a friend. You would give them your thoughts, efforts and time, while they respond with the tiniest of attention while saying they tried their best.

He didn’t really leave a note. He didn’t think they deserved to know how? When they didn’t even care about why? So, no note.

He brought the bottle to his lips and swallowed all the pills down, no water to smooth it down. His mind started to get fuzzy while his limbs started to get heavier by the second. He lay down on his bed looking at the ceiling. He turned to the door just as it opened but didn’t get to see who it was as at that moment, his vision went black. He was finally at peace.


	2. #2

They sat around the kitchen table, food of all kinds spread in front of them. Everyone was chatting about everything and nothing at once. It was such a chill day that it almost erased the burden of the universe off their shoulders. Looking around at the faces surrounding him. These people have become like family to him. They have gone through heaven and hell together. Thick and thin.

He laid back on his bed at night, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t stop his thoughts. It just wouldn’t shut up. He was so tired. So spent. He didn’t have the energy to oppose it, to think of the many true ways he was important. The many ways he was useful and needed. He was actually being taken seriously. 

Yet the hurt was there. It became part of him, like it is growing immunity to this new found happiness and confidence he seemed to adapt. It reminded him of his unhealthy coping mechanisms and how good they low-key felt. How he never really wanted to stop. He looked at the thin white scars that lined his inner forearm, the pain that they were always accompanied with; how fulfilling it felt to control when he felt pain. The small moments of bliss that seemed to clear his cotton filled mind. He never went deep. 

Death wasn’t his goal, not all the time that is.

He knew that what he was doing was important, that it was an honor to fight for what he believed and for what was good.

Then why did he feel so… insignificant.

He wasn’t a hero. Not really.

He was part of a hero. Voltron was the hero.

Shiro was a hero, a prisoner to a legend.

Keith was a hero, son of a war legend and a member of a secret organization. He did all his missions first hand. He didn’t hide in a cat, not anymore. He got his hands dirty.

Pidge was a hero. She might not know it, but she was hero with those brains of hers. She could surpass anything. Not even a locked door could stop.

Hunk was a hero, for way more reasons than one. He was their anchor, the one who kept everyone sane. He lightened up the mood and made them all feel safe even if not physically. He could build a weapon using whatever was available, Lance saw do this once.

Lance?

He couldn’t even go against his own mind. He couldn’t restrain himself from going bad again. He didn’t really care to. He welcomed the pain again because God, it felt so good. And he deserved it for not being a hero amongst heroes.

For not being smart enough, even though he was enlisted in a military space program.

For not being a good friend.

For being too obnoxious.

For being too intolerable and unoriginal.

He didn’t have his usual… tool. So he settled on a nail that he got from Hunk’s workshop.

He watched the blood droplets fall on the floor. Red against the white bedroom floor.

What will he do when this stopped being enough to satisfy his need for the usual bliss?


	3. Dead Weight

He stared at the plate of food. He didn’t care about the calories… or the fat content or any of that crap. He cared about how disgusting it would make him feel afterword. The bite didn’t seem… worth it? So he pushed the plate away from him. He ruffled the plate enough to give anyone who cared to look the impression he ate anything from the concoction infront of him.

He smiled and thanked Hunk before leaving the kitchen to go to his room to distract himself from everything.

As he reached the room and opened the door, he noticed the floor spin too fast to be normal. He gripped the closest thing to him, which happened to be the chair of his unused desk. Lance’s mind noticed the red flags but it was quickly dismissed to exhaustion from their last training session. Keith had them run drills all day. His fear of losing anyone after what happened was taking its toll on everyone. He was surely not the only one this tired, at least that’s what he told himself.

He lay on his bed for the rest of the day.

The next day came and was exactly the same. Train, stare at his food, train some more, stare some more and sleep. He drank enough water and coffee to keep him going but even that was starting not to be enough for his body. He was beginning to shake after 2 minutes of training, the dizziness didn’t quite go away and the nausea was multiplied tenfold.

It was the afternoon according to their programmed clock, as time doesn’t make sense in space, and everyone was talking and laughing about something Lance couldn’t quite remember even though it was said five minutes ago.

Keith stopped pushing the team too much and was putting effort to get to know the rest Paladins, including the Alteans, in attempt to be a good leader. Hunk had a four hour talk with Keith to portray everyone’s feelings about the extensive training which ended with both males getting progressively closer and Keith laying off from the extra work.

“-ance!”

His thoughts were rudely interrupted by someone snapping their fingers infront of his face to get his attention. When his eyes finally focused, brown concerned eyes stared back at him. _Huh… Hunk was sitting on the other side of the room a minute ago._

“Can you hear me?” The Yellow Paladin said it like it was third time he mentioned it, **not that he actually cared** His brain supplied. Blue eyes widened at the thought. He hadn’t had thoughts like this since high school, why now?

“Yeah… sorry.” He tried to fix the situation by sounding as casual as he could muster. “What was the question?”

Hunk and Keith eyed each other for at Lance’s peculiar behavior before looking at him again. There seemed to be a silent conversation taking place and Lance would bet his left arm he was the subject. **They are just another group of friends who will leave you eventually.** Was the voice getting louder? It wasn’t this prominent before.

“We said what are your suggestions about bettering the training routine.”

“Oh. Um… Whatever Keith is doing right now is fine with me.”  
“You sure about that?” The uncertainty fed into the inner voice. **He thinks you’re too weak to finish a simple training routine.**

He looked around the room, suddenly claustrophobic. The ceiling and the walls seemed too close for his liking. Hunk was too close for his liking. Keith, Allura and Coran staring at him wide eyed **. They didn’t think a Paladin of Voltron could be this useless. But then again, when were you ever useful. Just hanging around like dead weight. That’s what you are. What you’ve always been.**

His stomach didn’t just grumble, it felt like he was stabbed, repeatedly. He felt completely sick but knew nothing would come up if he tried to hurl. His inner stomach fold were rubbing on each other, the stomach acid has nothing to devour but itself. Lance’s headache was splitting by the time he felt the least bit aware of himself.

Lance stood up too fast for his malnourished body to coordinate with. He tipped to the side and felt free for a second like he was flying, not free-falling to the floor. The others were calling and shouting but he didn’t hear anything, he didn’t care what they said. He deserved this. He was utterly convinced.

**Dead weight.**

The last thing he saw before he completely succumbed to the darkness was the blurry figures of his friends running around the room in panic at their fallen comrade.


	4. A Year Later

A year.

**He’s been clean for a whole year.**

That was the thought that kept him from relapsing, but it didn’t mean he didn’t have the close calls. You see…  _the thoughts never stopped._

Lance remembered how badly the last time affected his life. His so-called ‘friends’ left, his parents didn’t notice and that hurt even more and he also just… couldn’t stop.

He wanted to go back… so bad, but the idea of losing the people he has now was too big of a risk. What if they thought of him differently? What if they weren’t as supportive as they said they were and you deem yourself too much? What if they realise what a mess you were and that what you are doing was a testimonen Thoughts that didn’t stop kept playing and playing, slowly driving him crazy.

So as someone who is sick, he developed another method. He didn’t mean to, it just happened.

It started when had braces for 2 years, he lost so much weight due to him not being able to open his mouth and eat solid food for the first few months, shrinking his stomach in return. His appetite dwindled and he didn’t need so much food to survive anymore.

He started showing off his collar bone, it was so beautifully prominent that he played with it wheneve he was stressed. The feeling of not having anything in his stomach was so intoxicating to Lance that he just aimed to have it a constant.

But slowly, over time, food was disgusting. It made him sick. Any bite would have him throwing it back up in minutes. He stopped having an appetite at all, losing more and more weight.

He wasn’t complaining… but the dizziness and the constant headaches were a discomfort.

He didn’t realise the issue until he once stood up too fast from his car and his vision blacked out for a few seconds and he almost got hit with the coming car.

But it didn’t matter… he didn’t care. Food wasn’t something he wanted it, not by a long shot and it’s not like he could go back to what he did before. That was too big of a catastrophe. That was seen worse. So he hid the sharp objects and the tools, looked for a distraction. Uped the music too loud to drown the thought.

It was so easy to get away with thing when no one noticed anything you do. When people didn’t think being this thin and pale was as much a big deal as it was 'healthy’.

**Hey! You are not chubby or overweight! Congratulations! Tell us what you are doing so we can do it too!**

_Please don’t follow my example. I’d stop if i could._

But the problem for Lance was when he did eat, on the very rare rare occasion due to pressuring eyes and loud murmurs, he got comments about it.

**Wow Lance, You gained weight!**

_You’re disgusting._

**Did you stop your diet?**

It was like a loop he was forced to go through. Stop eating, you lose weight and you get compliments. Eat, you gain weight and you get called out.

_I’m so tired._

_I’m so so tired._

Hunk would remind him sometimes, tell him that what he was doing was unhealthy and that he should force himself to slowly eat soft foods and dense liquids, but they were never consistent. They were at the beginning but then he had things to do, places to be and dishes to make. Besides, he probably didn’t want to take care of a child complaining of being what everyone else wants to be. No one did. It was his problem.

It wasn’t that big of a deal… _not yet_ _._

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically my coping mechanism :)
> 
> If anyone wants to vent, rant or just talk... i always answer comments or Asks on tumblr for more personal approach @no-i-didnt-notice-im-short


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